


Youngblood

by pettybear



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Akira is a thug, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bikers, Dark, Drugs, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Swearing, Tattoos, Trauma, Violence, Yakuza, akechi comes later, akira works for kaneshiro, mafia, the phantom thieves help him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettybear/pseuds/pettybear
Summary: Taken in by Kaneshiro’s gang at a young age, Akira is a well known thug around the streets of Shibuya. When a group of high schoolers decide to meddle around with his leader, he tries to warn them for their own good, and the encounter changes his life in an unexpected way. But leaving the street life behind isn’t easy, especially with a detective red hot on your trail.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: suicide, violence, swearing  
It gets pretty heavy from the start, so be aware of potentially triggering themes!

Akira learned exactly how cruel life could be the day he turned eight years old.

It had been a relatively chilly day, the wind outside making the trees groan and cry with every gust passing. Their small, cheap apartment had been filled with laughter as he blew the candles on his cake out, cheery music playing on repeat in the background.

“Happy birthday baby!” his mother smiled, clapping her hands excitedly. Her long black curls had been tied up in a fashionable bun, and if people didn’t look too close to see the purple and yellow bruises blooming across her pale skin, they would see a young woman in the prime of her life. “What are you going to wish for?”

“Socks!” Akira exclaimed happily, remembering the animal themed socks all his classmates gladly flaunted.

His father raised an eyebrow at this and chuckled. “Wow, really buddy? Socks? Thought you were a little more ambitious than that.”

“Shut it Tadashi,” his mother jeered, shooting a mischievous look in her partner’s direction. They were a nice match, both witty and loving souls In their own special way. “If he wants socks, he’ll get socks.” Besides, Akira knew they were too short on cash to buy really anything else.

It was an unforgettable day for him for a number of reasons. With his mother losing her job and his father’s chronic bronchitis, life in their little family had been tense lately. Which is why when Akira woke up that morning and heard zero arguing, he knew it’d be special.

Approximately nine hours later, he found his mother hanging from the bathroom ceiling when he went to brush his teeth.

Consequently, his father fell apart like a poet without inspiration, and life lost all meaning. Alcohol was a more attractive option than grieving, even at the cost of the last stability Akira had left. Over the course of a year and a half, he watched his father turn more into a stranger with each burning drink shoved down his throat. When the booze eventually got to his liver, Akira had already been an orphan for a long time.

He went to live with his uncle and aunt next, a proper family unaccepting of an improper child like himself. He didn’t blame them. He knew he’d been a burden to them the moment he showed up on their doorstep, traumatized and utterly alone, desperate for any bit of affection he could grasp. And what he couldn’t find at his new home, he decided to search for on the streets.

It was just a small amount of time at first. After school, he aimlessly wandered the neighborhood, waiting for evening to fall. He was well known in class as the sad kid who lost his parents, essentially a stain on people’s otherwise spotless days. He was lonely and his fragile state of mind didn’t take the relentless taunting of his peers very well, much preferring to spend his evenings watching Shibuya light up when the sun went down.

Unconsciously to both random trouble makers and himself, he became a familiar face to everyone hanging around past bedtime, and when he was twelve years old he caught the attention of someone looking for a little more than simple entertainment. Junya Kaneshiro threw one look at Akira, and realized he’d found the exact easy target he’d been looking for.

“Hey kid!” the heavy set teenager called out as he lounged outside the arcade, beckoning Akira to come closer. “Don’t I see your face an awful lot around here?”

“…Yeah,” Akira nodded, quiet but obedient, clutching his red backpack tight. Akira also recognized the other boy, but not necessarily in a positive sense. He was usually seen cruising around with a group of older, scary looking men and loud flamboyant women. The ones everyone warned children like him to stay away from, and they were right to, considering what happened next.

“And always alone. Don’t you have any friends?” The older boy taunted, stimulated by the joined laughter of his large group of friends.

“Not really,” Akira just shrugged honestly, thin legs walking himself closer to the group. He had to crane his neck to even see the others eyes, cringing at the smell of cigarettes and alcohol wafting around.

“What loser doesn’t have friends?” a tall boy snickered, but quickly shut up when he saw the dirty look Kaneshiro threw him, and it became pretty clear to Akira who the boss was here.

“That’s… unfortunate. Then, how about you become friends with us?”

And deep down Akira knew it was a bad idea, he really did. But for the first time since he his eighth birthday, he felt an emotion other than melancholy; curiosity.

Kaneshiro’s grin sharpened when the smaller boy nodded, and he only had to bent down a little to level his face with Akira’s.

“I see,” he nodded, his slanted eyes meeting Akira’s obsidian ones. “You’re gonna have to pay an entrance fee to enter our group though. How about… ten thousand Yen?” To someone like Kaneshiro, it was nothing, but to Akira it was a near impossible sum.

So the next time Akira’s uncle and aunt weren’t home, he searched the house and grabbed all the money he could find without making it suspicious. About a month and a half later, he returned to the arcade and proudly presented the money he’d slowly gathered.

Kaneshiro looked surprised, then pleased. “Wow kid, looks like you got more balls then I thought. Where’d you get this money?”

Akira didn’t answer, instead just expectedly waiting for his reward.

“…You stole it, huh?” Kaneshiro asked, and for a second his tone held something vicious, almost dangerous. Akira winced slightly, expecting a lecture, but to his surprise he was met with a smile instead. “Good job.”

Akira’s features practically lit up from the praise, and he finally felt like he did something _right. _

Surprisingly, Kaneshiro kept his promise and let Akira hang out with them regularly, and life took its own course from there. The older boy taught Akira how to stand up for himself, how to fight properly, what area is dangerous. He was there when Akira had his first smoke, then his first kiss, even his first petty theft from a small convenience store. And only for the prize of occasional bouts of money, first small sums, the gradually larger amounts.

It didn’t take very long for his uncle to find out, and at thirteen Akira got kicked out, alone and suddenly very, very scared. So, he turned to the only other person he thought he could trust, and went down an irreversible path of life.

It was much later when he realized exactly how incredibly _stupid _he’d been. 

* * *

_Four years later_

Groaning, Akira rolled over on his squeaking mattress, burying his face in his pillow in a desperate attempt to cancel out the noise of his doorbell ringing _over and over again. _

“Will somebody open the fucking door already?!” He yelled, banging his fist on the white wall, catching the attention of the two boys residing in the room next to his. After a few tired curses and some shuffling, Akira could hear someone finally ran down the stairs and opened the apartment door.

A muffled conversation ensued, then followed by someone shouting his name, and he wondered who the hell had the nerve to wake him before noon.

“Akira-san, some kid named Mishima says he’s here to speak about somethin’ urgent!” Daiya shouted, still sounding a bit sleepy.

“Tell him to fuck off!” Akira bit out, knowing full well Mishima could hear him.

“You heard him,” Daiya said, letting out an indignant noise when Mishima pushed past him and entered their crappy apartment.

“Please Akira-san, it’s important,” Mishima pleaded, heading straight to Akira’s door and knocking until he got what he wanted.

“For real, Daiya? I could’ve been murdered, you know,” Akira muttered, throwing on a shirt and opening the door with a pointed glare. “What do you want, Yuuki?”

“Thank God you’re here…” Mishima sighed gratefully, “I’m in so much trouble!”

“Well, what a great start.” Slowly strutting off to the living room, he gestured for Mishima to follow him and took a seat on one of the two gray couches. “Someone fetch me a drink while he talks,” he ordered, wincing when Daiya turned on the light.

“It’s about my new job. You know, the one with the high schoolers-”

“What’s that got to do with me?” he cut the black haired boy off, leaning back against the plush seat and resting his feet on the coffee table.

“W-well, nothing-”

“Then I don’t give a crap,” he spat, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee Kojiro brought him. “Since Iwai left, I only do arms dealing.” He knew he was being a little hard on the younger boy, but Jesus when would everyone get a hint and mind their own business?

“Hasekura-san said you’d help me fix it,” Mishima murmured, guiltily focusing in his shoes. And well, that changed everything.

“All right then, brief me,” he sighed, knowing that if Sen said Akira was going to, he didn’t have much of a choice.

Mishima’s shoulders sagged in relief, “Okay, so you know how I was asked to recruit new couriers a some time ago?”

Akira nodded, he remembered the meeting all too well. It wasn’t a pleasant one, considering how much he protested against the idea of roping high schoolers in. But in the end, who was he to decide anything? Kaneshiro only cared for money, and the rest of them all functioned solely for the purpose of gathering more, nothing more or less.

“Well I did that, and it was going pretty good, but a few days ago I offered someone and they didn’t take it well. Like, at all,” Mishima said, seemingly forgetting to breath in between words. “She said some pretty mean things -my feelings are fine, thanks-, but I kinda forgot all about it. Until Hasekura-san summoned me, and let me tell you Akira-san, I was terrified!”

Waving his hand impatiently, Akira grunted in understanding, Mishima taking it as conformation to continue his word vomit. “So turns out, that girl and a bunch of other kids suddenly started asking around about us!”

“So what?” Akira sipped his coffee, “It’s just some nosy high schoolers, nothing difficult.”

“Yeah I thought so too, except she’s not. Her name,” Mishima leaned forward to add dramatic effect to his pause, “is Makoto Niijima.”

That certainly caught his attention. “Niijima, like the prosecuter?” 

“Her little sister,” Mishima groaned, burying his face in his hands, and Akira finally understood why he was making such a big deal out of it. “Akira-san, what am I gonna do?”

Akira took a second to take all the info in, and consider his next move.

“Where are they asking around?”

“Central street. They separately pretend to be interested in the job, but when you ask they start questioning you about… the, uhm, the boss,” Mishima said, looking up at him with sad puppy eyes, and Akira could practically feel himself relenting.

“Well take care of this, Akira-san,” Kojiro suddenly appeared next to him, his tall stature never failing to surprise him. “You don’t have to go out of your way.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda below your paygrade,” Daiya added, leaning against Kojiro lightly.

“No, Sen specifically mentioned me,” Akira sighed, getting up and stretching his arms. Shrugging on his black jacket and wedging his gun between the waistband of his jeans, he motioned for Mishima to follow him and opened the front door. “I’ll be back quick.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence, swearing

“You sure that’s her?” Akira asked, peering at the young, proper looking girl talking to an elderly man from where he was crouched in the narrow alley way. “Describe her again.”

“Slender, brown hair, serious looking, really cute-”

“We’re not searching for a date for you, Yuuki.” Threading his long fingers through his mass of black curls, Akira heaved another deep sigh. “I can’t believe you approached _her. _She looks like she writes in her diary every night.”

“This isn’t an easy job you know! She looked like she was up for it,” Mishima sulked, and Akira wondered for the hundredth time why the hell Sen ever recruited him. He obviously wasn’t street material. Desperate and power hungry maybe, but much too naïve.

“You have to be more careful, this isn’t a game. You’re lucky Sen decided I could fix your mess, you’d be hanging If it were anyone else.”

“If you’re so unwilling, maybe we should ask for some help,” Mishima said, sounding a little salty even over the phone.

“Don’t be fucking stupid! If the boss finds out, these kids are dead meat. You want that on your conscious?” Akira glared at the black of his screen, despite knowing Mishima couldn’t see it. “What do you think happens to girls like her in a business like ours?”

“Girls like who?” A sharp voice asked. Whipping his head around, Akira near had a heart attack when seeing the girl he’d been spying on standing right next to him, eyes sharp. Ending the call, he straitened his spine and frowned.

“You spying on people?”

“You were the one looking at me first,” she countered, crossing her arms in defiance. It was no wonder Mishima asked her, he had always been weak to a pretty face.

“Can I help you?” he asked, not really interested in beating around the bush. She was probably just looking for a case to crack, an ambitious high schooler looking for adventure. He’d seen plenty of people like her get exactly what they asked for, much to their unfortune.

“I don’t know, can you?” Her voice was deceivingly casual, but her stance betrayed the tension in her features. “I know who you are. Take me to your boss, or I will contact the police.” _Bluffing for sure. _

“My boss?” he laughed, “I think you watched too many movies. What’re you trying to say anyway? That I look like some kinda thug?”

“Well, I have eyes.” Akira felt a twinge of annoyance, and knew he was losing his patience rapidly. “I know about the illegal smuggling, so just cut the crap and let me see your superior.” Watching her trying to be tough would have been pretty adorable if she wasn’t getting on his nerves so much.

She looked uncomfortable when he walked closer and pushed his face near hers. “Listen, student council president. You don’t know what you’re getting into, so leave this type of stuff to big sis.” Her eyes widened when she realized he knew who she was, but her composure quickly recovered again.

“So you’re not denying it.”

Grasping her shoulder, he pushed her back and internally winced at her pained face when she made contact with the dirty wall. “Shut your mouth and go home, or I’ll fucking find out where you live and make sure you’re not telling anyone shit ever again.”

“Get off her!” A voice from behind called, warning him just in time to duck and avoid the punch thrown at him.

Turning around to take a proper look at his assailer, he wasn’t surprised it was yet another high schooler, obviously from the same school when considering the uniform. Behind the blonde boy’s heaving form, two more students ran into view, accompanied by a… cat?

“The hell you think you’re doing, man?!” The blond boy asked, face red.

The other boy stepped closer, bluish hair falling over his eyes. “What treacherous fiend would raise their hand against a woman?”

“A little sexist, man,” Akira said, preparing for the worst. From experience, he knew this was the part that usually got ugly.

The other girls, the one with pigtails, went over to comfort Niijima. “You got anything out of him?” she asked, her blue eyes glaring at him.

Niijima shook her head, “No, he’s threatening me to stay out of it.”

“Look dude, you look pretty young too, yeah? We have our reasons, so can ya just give us some info?” the blonde boy asked, much to Akira’s amusement.

“I don’t need your reasons, everyone has those,” Akira said, wondering if this was all of them. Because if that were the case, he could take them on his own. “The same goes for all of you. Stay out of this shit, or I’ll fuck you up.”

“You seem to know a lot, huh,” Niijima said, shrugging the other girl off in favor of confidently standing in front of him. “I think you’re our ticket to the boss of this whole operation.”

“And why the hell would I help you guys, huh? Nosy shits always end up getting hurt anyway.”

“Look, you can’t be older than us. We can help you,” Niijima looked in his eyes, and he didn’t like what he found in hers. Pity made his blood boil.

“I don’t need help,” Akira growled, grabbing hold of her wrist and _squeezing. _“In fact, it’s you who’s gonna need help if you don’t listen.”

Hearing her give a little yelp of pain, the blonde boy shot forward again and tried to grab ahold of his collar. He released Nijima and raised his arm up, punching the blond square in the face.

“Ryuji!” The blonde girl gasped when she heard the resounding crack made on impact.

Akira was a little impressed when ‘Ryuji’ got up again and swung his shot again. This time, he let it hit it’s mark, leaving his cheekbone throbbing. He grasped Ryuji’s wrist, then his neck, and slammed his head against the brick wall.

Ryuji sagged on the ground like a sack of potatoes, and he was just about to give a kick for good measure, when the other boy tried to pull him off by tugging on his jacket. Swiveling around, he planted his fist hard enough in the boy’s solar plexus that his lunch spilled out.

Immediately, the two girls ran forward to steady them. “You trash!” the blonde spat, holding a tissue against Ryuji’s face to catch the blood running from his nose.

“Stop asking around, or I’ll take it a step further. And I won’t be alone next time.” Turning on his heels, he stuffed hands in his pockets and threw them one last dirty look. “I know your faces.”

* * *

“It was so cool, you should’ve seen it!” Mishima exclaimed, using broad hand gestures to describe what happened back in Akira’s apartment. His chair was turned from the kitchen table so he could see Daiya and Kojiro occupying the gray couch next to their tv.

“So you saw he was getting in a fight, and you didn’t go help?” Daiya asked, raising a thin eyebrow. Akira was pretty sure that if those two had been there, those poor high schoolers would’ve ended up in the hospital. He was suddenly very, very glad he went alone.

“W-well… come on! It’s Akira-san!” Mishima mumbled hastily, fiddling with his hoodie. “He’s famous for this kinda stuff…”

“Akira,” Kojiro ignored Mishima’s rambles, voice serious. “If Hasekura-san finds out you let those high schoolers go so easily, you’re gonna be in trouble. You know that, right?”

“I mean, I did rough them up a bit,” Akira said, but knew Kojiro was right. He always was. “What was I supposed to do, hospitalize them?”

“Yes,” Kojiro nodded, and headed to the kitchen.

“Whatever…” They were just a curious, nothing threatening. Akira already felt pretty bad because he hurt them, he didn’t think they needed more persuasion. He just hoped they got a hint. “Maybe Sen won’t even care? He’s too busy to be dealing with my crap anyway.”

Kojiro returned, approaching Akira to hold an ice pack against his bruising cheek. The blond boy, Ryuji, may have been sloppy, but he could pack a pretty good punch when it came down to it.

“He’s never too busy to be dealing with you,” Daiya snorted, finding humor in the situation. “He’s always looking for an excuse to bother you, mate.”

“He’ll call me if he has something to say.” Rubbing his aching knuckles, he got up and walked to his room without another word. He was getting really tired of Sen and all the man’s meddling. Just because he was Akira’s superior, didn’t mean he could just order him around like he was some mutt. He wondered if Kaneshiro thought the same of him, and felt a twinge of sadness.

He quickly changed out of his clothes into a dark pair of joggings and a grey sweatshirt, grabbed his wallet and left his room again. He didn’t like being In there for too long, it was much too messy for his tastes.

“Are you going to see Nami?” Daiya asked, voice teasing. He hummed a yes, loosely tying his white sneakers.

“You’re so lucky, Akira-san…” Mishima sighed, clearly thinking of Nami in a way he could never. “She doesn’t even make time for the rest of us.”

Halting in his steps, Akira turned and glared down at the smaller boy. “Don’t even fucking think about it.” Without waiting for an answer, he left to the bustling streets of Shinjuku.

He always hated going to the red light district, despite Kaneshiro’s fondness for it. The first time he’d gone there at night, he’d been scared out of his mind. Now, he was used to the whistles and cat calls always accompanying the place. Crouching down, he descended the well-hidden stairway near an alley, revealing a clean glass door. Music boomed in his ears when he entered, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes hitting him strongly. He pushed past the familiar unsure looking business men and headed straight to the second floor.

“Akira!” Nami sat in her usual room, brushing her long brown hair into a ponytail. Her face lit up with glee when she saw him, but then turned somber. “I’m sorry, I’m not done working.”

“I know,” he nodded, taking out his wallet and placing the correct amount of money on the table. “I can pay for your time.”

She frowned, obviously reluctant to take money from him. “I didn’t work for this, you don’t have to.”

“We both know you never have time when it comes down to it. Just take it please.”

She considered it a moment, looking at the stack with a conflicted expression. Eventually, her red painted lips tightened and she nodded. “What’s wrong, if it’s that urgent?”

Sighing, he sat down on the pristine bed, and patted the spot next to him for her to sit. “Nothing serious, really. I just had to corner some high school kids, and it kinda left me with a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Oh honey,” she smiled, her youthful face hiding the wisdom she gained over all the years. In truth, she was a lot older than most of her clients knew. “Looks like your conscience is weighing down on you.”

“Wow, way to make me sound like a murderer,” he joked, but knew she was right. He didn’t like the thought of messing with people who had nothing to do with them, especially if they’re not old enough to know what the hell they’re doing.

“Did Kaneshiro-san put you up to it?”

“No, he’s too busy with gathering more money, I guess. I haven’t seen him in ages. Sen was the one who ordered me to.” Upon the mention of the older man, her expression soured. If there was anyone who disliked Sen more than him, it was Nami.

“Ugh, why doesn’t that surprise me?” she muttered, frowning. “Remember Akira, be careful of Sen. He looks at you the way my patrons look at me.”

“Not sure I wanna know what you’re insinuating there, but I know. He’s… bad news.” An understatement, really. Sen was like a bad omen, an encounter with him never ended well. “I wish Iwai was still here.”

Mentioning Iwai, her hazel eyes gained a forlorn shine. “Yes, he cared for you. It’s all Tsuda’s fault he left.”

“You can’t blame Tsuda for everything, you know. I know you three were close friends, but it’s Ran who turned the tables.” He was there when Ran showed up on their doorstep, begging Iwai for a payment in exchange for her son.

“Don’t speak ill of the dead,” Nami scolded, her finely manicured fingers tangling in her vibrant green dress. “I’m happy for him. That boy, Kaoru, they formed a family together.” Despite her strong face, Akira knew Nami still grieved for the life she and Iwai could have had, if it wasn’t for his sudden desire to become a father.

His gecko tattoo burned on his left hipbone where it had been inked into his skin, a reminder of the father he’d always wanted. Iwai had taught him everything what there is to know about weapons, and left his position for Akira to fill, which he would always be grateful for.

“Everything’s changing, Akira,” Nami pondered, and he believed her. She was part of the organization long enough to know, after all. “Ever since Kaneshiro-san gained a position of power, things have shifted.”

“… He’s not a bad person,” Akira lied. “He just doesn’t realize the consequences of his actions.”

“He does.”

He felt an irrational flair of desperation to defend his mentor, despite knowing the other would never do the same for him. To Akira, Kaneshiro was the beginning of everything he knew and grew to be.

To Kaneshiro, Akira was a pawn in a bigger chess game than he wanted to be a part of.

He didn’t respond, knowing the topic of his boss was a sensitive topic for her. He was the one forcing her to do what she did, after all. And even if she would ever pay the enormous debt he’d burdened her with, the scars would always remain, both internal and external.

They were both happy to shrug the topic off, and spent the next hour catching up. Ever since Nami gained her regular clients, her free time dwindled, and he missed her terribly. She reminded him of his mother, fragile on the outside, but a personality stubborn enough to make anyone bow.

They’d just began talking about him getting a haircut when the shrill ringing of his phone interrupted them.

“What’s up?” he sighed, knowing better than to reject a call from Kojiro. The blond boy never called unless necessary.

“You need to come back right now,” Kojiro urged, sounding breathless. “Hasekura-san’s here, he’s got a job for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't necessarily an accurate representation of what's it's like to be involved with topics like this!  
Thanks for reading


	3. Chapter 3

“There you are,” Lounging in Akira’s usual seat in the living room, Sen looked utterly bored as he took in the black haired boy’s panting form. “Took you long enough.”

“Warn in advance if you’re coming,” Akira bit out, immediately relaxing when seeing his two friends standing near safe and unharmed.

“That’s the great part of being your superior, I don’t have to,” Sen smiled, absentmindedly tugging on his cuff links. His black shirt was only half buttoned up, revealing a number of tattoo’s far exceeding Akira’s own. “Why so slow? Don’t tell me you were with Nami again?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Sen narrowed his eyes, and Akira found himself uncaring whether he pissed the older man off. “That’s hilarious. Why’re you always going back to her anyways? There’s nothing special about her, except maybe her face.”

“Why are you here?” Akira interrupted him, balling his fists in attempt to control his temper. He hated the effect Sen had on him, the man knew exactly which buttons to press.

Sen’s voice jumped from mocking to serious faster than he could register. “I’ve got a job for you.” His brown, slanted eyes shifted toward to where Daiya and Kojiro were standing on high alert against the grey wall of his living room. “Send your two guard dogs away, this is a private matter.”

Albeit seeming unwilling, Daiya and Kojiro took their leave when Akira nodded towards them. After the apartment door closed, Akira was startingly aware of the suffocating silence left behind. Glancing over nervously at Sen, the man just gestured toward the open seat facing him.

Akira had always felt uncomfortable around Sen, even when he was just another teenager hanging around with Kaneshiro’s gang, just like him. There was always a kind of a… different air around the man. Like the people who you avoided walking past at night at all costs. Although, now that he thought about it, people probably think that of him too these days.

“What do you want me to do?” Akira asked awkwardly, trying not to mind the intense stare Sen subjected him with.

“First things first, did you take care of that new kid’s screw up I sent you?”

Sen lit a cigarette, smirking when Akira dismissed the one held out for him. “You mean Mishima? Yeah, I took care of it.”

“Really?” Sen raised an eyebrow high, “Then why didn’t you take those high schoolers to the boss?”

“That wasn’t necessary,” Akira said, maybe a little too fast. “I barely had to fight, they’re just curious. It’s not gonna happen again.”

Sen stared at him for an unnerving amount of time, like he was considering whether he should laugh or shout. Luckily, it turned to be neither. “… All right, guess you know best, they’re around your age after all. I’m sure Kaneshiro’s little lap dog wouldn’t bite his own master’s hand.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means what I implied,” Sen laughed, all sharp toothed and shark like. “After all, if you really _did _go against orders, even Kaneshiro wouldn’t back you up, you know?”

“Where is this coming from anyway?” All this talk of betrayal was making him nervous. He remembered the last person who ‘betrayed’ Kaneshiro. They used to be part of the group, maybe even… friends. Now, they were lying somewhere at the bottom of a lake, and Akira was determined not to end up the same.

“You haven’t heard? And here it thought Kaneshiro would tell his little bro first.” Sen was obviously just trying to provoke him, but it stung nevertheless. “There’s talk of a traitor.”

“Traitor… you mean like a cop or something?”

“Who knows?” Sen asked, but the look in his eyes told Akira he knew a lot more than he let on. “Moving on, you’ve got work to do. I’ve got a meeting with Owada in an hour. You remember him?”

“Yeah, he works for one of Kaneshiro’s best customers, right? What’s that got to do with me?”

“I need you to go to the meeting for me, and find out why he he’s two months behind his payment.”

“It’s your meeting. Why do I have to go? I’ve been running around all day, I don’t directly answer to you, you know.”

“Kaneshiro told me to sent you, since things might get messy. Ever since he put you in charge of weapons, people have started underestimating you. It’s time you get your reputation back.”

Sighing, Akira ran his hand through his black curls. He’d suspected something like this. Back when he first joined, he quickly discovered he had a knack for fighting, and Kaneshiro made sure to put it to good use. It caused him to gain a bit of a reputation, and not a necessarily positive one.

He was fine with that, he never liked fighting as much as people expected from him, but it seemed he was growing weak.

“You want me to go by myself?”

“What,” Sen laughed, “You can’t handle it by yourself? Maybe you really did get soft.” Akira’s glare only made his smile widen predatorily. “Relax, I’ll be outside in case something happens.”

Although he didn’t want to admit it, that did comfort him a bit. Akira was talented at fighting, but Sen was an absolute beast. The man wasn’t afraid to use every dirty trick if only to achieve his goal, which is exactly what made him so capable in the first place.

“… all right, got it. Let’s go then.”

Notifying Kojiro and Daiya, Akira followed Sen outside to where his expensive, black car was parked. It looked very out of place in the neighborhood Akira had taken residence in, and knew the only reason it wasn’t vandalized yet was because they recognized Sen’s personalized number plate.

“Why do you live in this shit hole anyway?” Sen asked, opening the passenger door for Akira in mock politeness. “Pretty sure with all the money Kaneshiro pays you, you could at least live somewhere decent.”

“You know I’m trying to lay low.”

The car smelled vaguely like cigarettes and alcohol, a smell Akira was all too familiar with. He was hoping for a silent car ride, but wasn’t surprised he got the opposite.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get any more tattoo’s, with all the scars you have and all.”

“Just because you’re covered doesn’t mean I want the same. You know it’s risky, they can easily identify you with all of yours,” Akira responded, digging his nails in his palm. His scars were a sensitive topic for Akira, which is probably why Sen brought it up in the first place.

“I know a guy who’d do it for free, if you’d like to. The one on your thigh wasn’t pretty to look at, makes sense if you’d want it inked,” Sen proposed. Akira just bit his lip, careful not to let the insults on the tip of his tongue slip.

Of course Sen knew of every scar littering Akira’s pale skin, since he was the one responsible for almost all of them, back when Akira got jumped in. Akira’s jumping in was a common requirement for joining Kaneshiro’s gang. All he had to do was lie on the ground and get beat up without attacking in return. Sadly, it didn’t go as easy nor as painless as his thirteen year old naïve mind expected, and his body faced the repercussions of that.

“We’re here,” Sen said, interrupting Akira’s train of thought. They stopped before the bar famous in the neighborhood for illegal trades. The owner was neutral, making it the perfect spot for a meeting such as this.

Seeing as the taller man made no motion to indicate him moving, Akira got out the car and walked up to the bar entrance.

“Get ‘em tiger!” Sen taunted, his sly voice tainted with amusement.

The moment Akira stepped inside, the previously loud chatter ceased almost immediately. The seats were primarily occupied by men, ranging from young to older who reeked of alcohol. Some of them mumbled a greeting in his direction, others chose to remain silent as a statue. 

He spotted the person he’d been looking for at the back, playing poker with about seven young guys. Ignoring everyone’s pointed stares, he loosened his shoulders and discreetly walked up to them.

“The fuck are you?” A gruff looking guy asked when Akira sat down in an open seat at their table, lowering his bottle of beer to glare at him. But he wasn’t who Akira was here for, and so, of no importance.

“Where is Hasekura?” Owada asked, setting his stack of cards face down on the table. Despite his unintimidating appearance, he was a talented business man, something even Akira could respect.

“Something came up, you’re gonna have to deal with me,” Akira said, voice monotone.

The guy next to Owada snorted, looking Akira up and down with an unbelieving grin. “Yeah, sure kid.”

“Do you know of the fine details?” Owada ignored his companions, maintained poker face not revealing a hint.

Leaning forward, Akira lowered his voice and pretended all the other patrons in the bar weren’t listening in with startling intensity. “I know you haven’t paid in two months.”

“I see.”

“So? Don’t tell me you don’t have it.”

Apparently he said something funny, because Owada started laughing. “It’s not that we don’t have it, it’s that we’re not giving it.”

“What?”

“You can tell Kaneshiro we’re not paying shit. We’re done with all his demands, we don’t work for him exclusively.”

He was so, so _tired_ of this crap.

“Who owns Shibuya?”

“Huh?” Owada frowned.

Leaning forward, Akira narrowed his eyes like Sen usually did. “I’m asking. Who owns Shibuya?”

Owada didn’t answer, choosing to stand his ground and keep his lips shut.

Giving an exasperated sigh, Akira knew what came next. Grabbing a stray bottle of sake, he twirled it around in his hand and broke it on one of their heads with a clang. The man crumpled off his chair onto the dirty ground, clutching his bleeding scalp with a pained scream.

All hell broke loose.

Owada remained seated while his six companions shot forward. Dodging a sloppy fist, Akira grabbed the back of one of their heads and banged it on the table twice. Someone kicked him in his stomach, knowing the wind out of him, but also presenting an opportunity for Akira to grab his leg and yank him forward so he had easy access to punch his face and knock him out.

He vaguely regretted growing his hair out when a hand buried in his curls dragged him forward, throwing him on the ground and stomping on his thigh, making him groan out in pain. Gritting his teeth, he firmly planted his hands on the glass covered floor and ignored the feeling of his palms tearing open in favor of toppling his assailant on the ground by pulling his legs out from under him.

Back on his feet, he shrugged a guy off his back and whirled around, kicking him in his crotch to leave the man writhing on the floor. He was about to throw another punch when the familiar sound of a gun cocking halted him in his actions.

“That’s enough,” Owada spoke surprisingly calmly, pressing the cold barrel harshly against his forehead through Akira’s sweat soaked bangs.

_This is bad, _Akira thought.

He instantly realized he’d been too careless. The bar may have been a neutral, non-killing zone, but he should’ve known rules are broken as easily as breathing for some. It was one of the first lessons Kaneshiro had thought him.

The people still left in the bar whipped up from their seats, all reaching for their own fire weapons. The owner looked so terrified Akira almost felt bad for him, watching the man reach behind the counter to participate if push came to shove.

“The fuck is this?” Akira asked, straightening his back and examining the gun as well as he could. Sen could see through the open windows, so he could only hope the man would come help if he stalled for time. “You think you can shoot me with one of my own guns?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Owada smiled eerily, apparently throwing the no shooting rule to the wind. Behind him, three of his goons regained their footing, the rest still lying unconscious on the floor.

“You’re willing to shoot me with witnesses, in a neutral zone none the less?” Akira narrowed his eyes, his hand itching to grab his own gun. “You know that’ll end badly, yeah?”

“Things are changing, boy. Kaneshiro isn’t the only big shot in Shibuya anymore.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Owada opened his mouth, maybe to answer the question, but was cut short by Sen’s sing song voice ringing through the cold silence.

“Play time’s over.”

A bullet whizzed past him, lodging itself in Owada’s toes. Akira was just in time to duck as the man’s own gun went off in surprise, probably a little higher than he’d originally aimed. Taking his chance, Akira swiftly shot forward and slammed his open palm into the bald man’s throat. As the man hacked and coughed, Akira plucked the gun out of his hand and pointed it between his eyes.

His ears still hurt a bit as he tried not to let his hands shake, shooting a nervous glare at Sen. Appearing as control itself, Sen just smiled that slimy smile of his and stuffed his hand gun back in his inner jacket pocket, taking out a wad of cash and slamming it on the counter.

“To cover the damages,” Sen said to the owner, who just warily accepted the money and drew back. With a single finger, Sen motioned for Akira to follow him as he turned around and walked out of the establishment.

Shooting Owada’s barely conscious form one last confused look, Akira lowered his arm and followed Sen outside without making eye contact with any of the other still on edge patrons. 

“What the hell was that all about?” Slamming the black car door shut, he twisted in his seat to look at Sen, who was casually starting up the car.

“What was what about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Akira spat, still gripping the gun tightly. “Owada said someone else entered Shibuya.”

“Great, you heard it with your own ears. Now we can go report to Kaneshiro.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts if you'd like to share them!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any spelling mistakes i'm bound to make, my english is a bit rocky at times haha

The drive to Kaneshiro’s place was short, but still much too long for his taste. No matter how many times he rode along the same path to the giant estate, it was always nerve wrecking in some way. He suspected that had something to do with the fact that lately every time he went, something bad happened, either to him or some other unlucky chump.

The men guarding the entrance pretended they weren’t hired to shoot on sight, bowing deeply when Sen walked past them with a wave.

Kaneshiro’s penthouse was located in an unexpectedly high class neighborhood, right under the public’s nose. Akira still remembered the day the older man bought the place in a flurry of rage, spending more money than his sanity could afford.

The elevator they’d stepped in ascended to the highest floor, one reserved specifically for Kaneshiro’s… dirtier business. The change in atmosphere was but one of the red flags blaring when you entered, bright lights dimmed and the eerie silence replaced with hollow laughter. The place was filled with people he didn’t recognize.

“Hmm?” Kaneshiro sat on his usual spot in one of the cushy couches, surrounded by unfamiliar women who’s faces changed every night. “Oh, it’s you two.”

A slight change in Sen’s posture was all it took for a few guys to get up and make space for them. Sen strut forward first, stretching lazily across the armrest without shame. Akira awkwardly took a seat in between two scarcely dressed girls, shifting uncomfortably as they squealed in delight when their shoulders brushed.

“How are you, Akira?” Kaneshiro asked, carelessly setting his glass of what looked like whisky down on the briefcase of money lying on the table in favor of showering his two guests with his full attention.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Akira politely answered, shooting his boss a small smile to really sell it.

“Good.” It seemed the simple answer was enough to satisfy for now, but Akira was sure he’d be questioned thoroughly later. “Hasekura, how’s business?”

“As usual,” Sen grinned, casually raking his fingers through his slick backed brown hair. “I’ll tell you about the details in private.” It almost sounded like an order, which it wasn’t, because Kaneshiro didn’t receive orders, he barked them out. And yet, sometimes even Akira had trouble discerning exactly who was who’s superior out of the two. Kaneshiro tolerated an awful lot from Sen, weirdly enough.

“Let’s move somewhere more quiet.” When they got up to walk to the next door room, Akira moved to do the same, only to be swiftly shut down. “Akira, wait for us here.” Watching the heavy oak door slam shut, Akira sank back in his seat in disappointment.

“Akira, was it?” one of the girls giggled, shifting closer. He nodded, nobody used his last name since Kaneshiro made him discard it a long time ago, so everyone simply opted for a more casual approach.

“You look, like, _way _younger than all the others here.”

“Yeah!” A blonde girl jumped in, leaning forward to join the conversation. “How old are you? Don’t tell me you’re a teenager.”

Akira subtly shrank back when the tanned girl to his left touched his knee. “… I’m seventeen.”

“For reals?!” the blonde giggled, playfully raking her long, pink nails across his clothed collarbone. “Talk about jailbait!”

“Why is someone so young involved in… this?” A slightly older, and thankfully, more down to earth woman asked.

“That’s none of your business,” Akira spat, shrugging the girls off of him. His harsh demeanor didn’t seem to make a dent in their enthusiasm. In fact, it only seemed to egg them on.

“Aww, don’t be so sour! It’s a waste on your cute face.” When their intrusive touches didn’t relent, Akira decided he had enough of their unwavering attention and got up to walk to the kitchen. He opened the fridge stocked with only alcohol, grabbing a beer and closed it again.

“A charmer as always, aren’t you.” A guy he vaguely recognized leaned against the kitchen counter next to him, lightly sipping his own beer. When Akira didn’t respond, his face contorted into a mocking sneer. “But you’re not into the chicks anyway, right?”

_True, but irrelevant. _

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“We’re not retarded. How else would a brat like you gain a position that high if not sleeping his way to the top?”

Just when Akira was about to do something _really stupid, possibly violent, _Sen’s loud voice practically screamed his name. Balling his hand into a fist, he set the beer down with a loud clang.

“Daddy’s calling,” the guy laughed.

Glaring at the still gloating man, Akira knocked him to the side when he passed by with a glare. “Watch what you say, bastard. Wouldn’t want something unfortunate to happen to you.”

This type of hostility wasn’t anything new to him, but that didn’t make it any less jarring. His young age and anti-social behavior made him a bit of an outcast, even among outcasts.

Truthfully, Akira himself couldn’t even comprehend how he rose among all the others so fast. Back when he first joined, Kaneshiro was still on the down low. Sure, he had money and power, but nothing compared to what he build up now. And Akira respected him for that, like a student respecting his teacher.

Because despite what people thought of Kaneshiro’s bad, sometimes dangerous habits, he was an incredible business man. Akira used to crash on his couch until Kaneshiro bought a larger estate, one where he had given the younger boy his own room. They’d been a family, up until business mixed in. Now, he wasn’t really sure what they were any more.

“Take a seat.” Kaneshiro gestured towards an open chair around the large, wooden table situated in the middle of the dining room.

“What’s up?” Akira asked, trying to keep his nerves out of his voice. He was used to it with Kaneshiro, but that serious look on Sen’s face gave him the chills.

“Hasekura informed me about Owada’s situation.”

The tone of Kaneshiro’s voice told Akira he wasn’t happy, and an unhappy Kaneshiro meant an unhappy Akira. He had to voice his concerns carefully.

“… he told me we had competition?”

_Wrong question. _

Kaneshiro ground his teeth in consternation. “Some dipshit is taking clients from us.” By the way the man’s nostrils flared and his thick fingers dug painfully into his palm, Akira knew the situation was dire. “I’m losing cash by the fucking second.”

It became pretty obvious Kaneshiro had dabbled in stress relief looking around the room. He had a new suit, double the amount of jewelry adorning his fingers and neck, and a painting that looked suspiciously like the Sayuri hung behind him. Probably a fake, but he doubted Kaneshiro cared. As long as the price was high enough to make his heart rate slow down, any overpriced piece of crap did the job.

“He’s doing a real good on staying anonymous too,” Sen sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “Our guys have no clue who the fuck he is, and his clients don’t even know him. The only thing they know is that he’s real cheap. We don’t even know how many members he has.”

“That’s…” It was almost impossible, to stay hidden for that long. Usually, in their line of business, it was all about spreading your name throughout the underground, and staying a mystery for the cops. This was ridiculous. “How the heck do you even do that?”

“No fucking clue,” Kaneshiro snarled, raising his fleshy arm and banging his fist on the table hard enough to break. “When I find him, he’s dead!”

“Let’s stay calm.” Sen turned to look at Akira. “Akira, this is where you come in. This new group knows everything about us. Our deals are getting compromised, because our clients are getting a cheaper deal right before the meet ups.”

“So that’s where all this traitor talk is coming from,” Akira mused.

“Yeah. And we have a pretty good idea where he’s at.”

Kaneshiro regained his composure, the bulging veins in his neck already residing. “He’s probably in your department.”

“What?” Akira all but yelped, nerves shooting through his veins like electricity. “But- how? I haven’t had any problem with our deals.”

“Yeah, exactly. Ain’t that suspicious? Not only is your department closely linked with all of our others, it’s our largest group. None of our weapon deals have been compromised. The rat is probably using that as a shield.”

Akira couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There were hundreds of people importing and selling fire arms, under his watch. He’d only recently taken over from Iwai, but there hadn’t been a problem, save for the few complaints. He didn’t want to suspect any of his guys.

“So…”

“So,” Kaneshiro rested his elbows on the table to make better eye contact. “He’s been doing his thing right under your goddamn nose, you brat. It’s your responsibility to find out who’s been raking in _my _hard earned cash.”

His Adam apple bobbed as he swallowed loudly. “Got it.”

“Don’t worry kid, I’m helping,” Sen said, playfully tapping his fingers on the expensive wood. _Great, just what he needed. _

Akira glanced over nervously to Kaneshiro, but the larger man’s stare was unmoving. Looks like he was done getting the easy treatment.

“Don’t worry, Akira.” Kaneshiro’s face slipped into a rare genuine smile, no matter how small. “I trust you’ll get it.”

“You know the consequences otherwise,” Sen quipped in, his narrowed eyes revealing no short amount of mirth.

And he did, sadly.

“This crap’s making my blood pressure rise,” Kaneshiro sighed, getting up from the chair with a screech. “Let’s go, I’ve got dinner prepared.”

* * *

It was already late in the night by the time Akira returned to his apartment, exhausted and slightly intoxicated. Sen had a habit of pouring his glass full the second it was emptied.

“Took you long enough,” Kojiro frowned, his bulky form rising from the cough to greet his friend.

“Where’s Daiya?” Akira ignored the comment, throwing his stuff down on the table and booking it straight for the fridge. Grabbing a bottle of much needed water, he sagged down on the couch.

“Asleep. Why?”

“Aww, you ditched your boyfriend to wait for me? That’s cute,” Akira teased, letting a bit of rare humor slip in his voice. Deep down, he really appreciated Kojiro’s worrying, as unnecessary as it may be. “Go get him, I have something to discuss.”

Biting his lip, Kojiro shot him a slight glare and stomped off to wake the younger boy.

He’d met them both two years back, when he still lived Kaneshiro. Kojiro was born and molded in the street, taken in by Iwai when they found him beaten to near death in some back alley.

Daiya, on the other hand, was raised in a beautiful and cushy environment. He joined the gang because of some misplaced respect and idolization. He showed no signs of regret though, so Akira tried not to dwell on it.

They hit it off right away, and started living together the moment they could. They were on of the few people Akira deemed precious to him, a dangerous thing to have. He trusted them with this, and only them.

“The hell you’re waking me for?” Daiya yawned, his brown curls even more unruly than normal.

“Sit, we’ve got a problem.”

It took about ten minutes to explain the situation, and Akira started to realized exactly how fucked he really was.

“What do we do?” Kojiro asked, his dark eyes swimming with worry.

“Keep an eye open, I guess. They’re bound to make a mistake.”

“That’s messed up, man,” Daiya mumbled, all previous need for sleep evaporated.

“What happens if we don’t find the guy?”

“… not sure. I probably get demoted. Worst case scenario, Kaneshiro bills me for the trouble.”

“Would he really do that?” Kojiro asked, looking disturbed at the mere thought. “I thought you two were close.”

“Dunno,” Akira murmured.

“H-hey…” Daiya’s green eyes focused on the floor. “What happens to the traitor? If he gets caught,”

“… the fuck you think happens, Daiya?”

“Sorry, this just never happened before, is all.”

Kojiro scratched his scalp through his bleached, cropped hair. “That’s because no one’s stupid enough to mess with Kaneshiro. Till now, I guess.”

“Whatever happens to them, they asked for it. You don’t play with fire,” Akira said, stifling a yawn of his own. Today left him wrecked. “Let’s talk in detail tomorrow. I’m done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

Akira was, for a lack of better words, bothered.

He had just gotten back from a meeting with the main supervisors of his weapon deals. Unsurprisingly, no one knew anything useful about the so called “traitor” hiding among his employees. But he’d at least expected _something. _He vaguely felt himself falling into a tedious but recognizable pattern of practiced self-doubt, a quality he had desperately tried to get rid of for years.

“Having issues?” Nami asked in that sweet, soothing voice of hers. The white dress she wore hugged her slim figure like a second skin, yet she still had a sense of innocence rarely seen in her line of work.

“You know I can’t tell you any details,” Akira mumbled, eyes shifting nervously around her perfectly neat room. It had been a week since his last meeting with Kaneshiro, and each day made the weight on his shoulder heavier and heavier. “I just… don’t wanna fuck this up, you know?”

“You mean the business?”

“All of these people are depending on me. If I screw up, it’s not just me who faces the consequences.” Plucking at his hoodie, Akira briefly wondered if talking to Nami about this was a good idea. Even if it was just her, in his line of business weakness was something to avoid. It made you vulnerable, and vulnerability is what they preyed on. 

She glanced over discreetly, her hazel eyes filled with an intense emotion he couldn’t quite place at the time. Was it sadness? Worry? Pity, even?

“It’s a lot for a kid of your age, huh?”

“I’m not a kid,” he said, purely out if reflex, and immediately regretted it when her soft chuckle betrayed her perception of him. A child in need of guidance.

“Hey Nami…” he started, turning around to look the older woman in the eye. “What if…” taking a shuddering breath, his face lit up with embarrassment as he imagined how small he must have looked in the moment. “What if Kaneshiro has no use for me anymore?”

“What?”

“What if he has no use for me anymore?” he repeated, voice cracking no matter how much he willed himself to _keep it the fuck together, Akira_. “What happens to me then?”

“Akira,” she said sternly, placing a delicate hand over his. “You are not Kaneshiro’s property. You’re not something to be thrown away after someone’s done with you.”

“Yeah right,” he scoffed, an ugly sound. “I think we both know that isn’t true. I haven’t been my own person for a long time now.”

“What are you saying?” She sounded downright horrified at the notion of his words. “…If he asked you to kill someone, would you do it?”

He stayed silent. It was a pointless question, and they both knew it.

“I already have.” Maybe he never blew anyone’s brains out, but his actions ruined more lives than his gun ever could. “It’s the only use I have.”

“Stop saying things like that!” her voice gained a shrill edge to it, which only added to the slightly desperate look in her eyes. “You are your own person.”

Akira swallowed thickly, perplexed at the drastic change in her usually serene behavior. “You don’t understand-”

“HE DOESN’T OWN YOU!” she snapped, painfully digging her manicured nails in his hand when he tried to pull it away. “You’re not an object!”

“Nami!” Grabbing her small shoulders, Akira shook her as gently as he could to bring her back to the present. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Her features twisted in something more hysterical, before ceasing to show any emotion at all, smoothing out to an ominously blank slate.

Deafening silence overwhelmed them, the tension in the air thick enough to cut. Suppressing a flare of worry, Akira withdrew his hands from her shoulders and bit his lip.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hesitating when her dull eyes bore into his. “Did I say something wrong?”

The question brought a small, fake smile to her lips devoid of any humor. “I’m sorry Akira, I think I need some time alone.”

“But-” he tried to interject, only to be thrown off by the sheer sadness radiating off her beautiful features. It was the first time Nami actually looked her age, her frown showcasing the wrinkles she normally expertly managed to cover up.

“Please,” she mumbled, her upper lip trembling. “Leave.”

“…I got it.” Getting up from his seat, he quickly threw on his white sneakers and shot Nami one last look of concern, but she stubbornly maintained her focus on the plush carpet beneath her feet. “See you later.”

Tangling his long fingers in his unruly curls, Akira had to suppress the urge to tug on them in frustration. His conversation with Nami, or lack thereof, only confirmed his worst fear.

That he was just a petty thief to the core, nothing less and certainly nothing more.

Making his way through the hot, hazy corridors of the building, Akira glared at anyone looking his way as he practically ran down the stairs. He couldn’t be more grateful to escape the stench of alcohol and breathe In the fresh air when he leaped through the exit.

“Are you certain he’s here? This doesn’t look like a place anyone decent could be found,” a smooth voice asked close to Akira as he turned a corner, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“She said we would see him here around this time…” a sharp, female voice replied, strangely familiar in his ears.

“It’s kinda scary here… should we head back?” another girl asked, confirming his suspicions.

_You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. _

Standing in the middle of one of the shadiest places in all of Shibuya stood the council president of Shujin and her friends, bickering and drawing the attention of everyone in a five mile radius.

His first instinct was to turn around, walk away from there, and ask Kaneshiro for a transfer. And he would’ve, if he didn’t realize exactly how fucked those kids were. If one of the gang members frequenting the many joints in the area spotted them, they would have a one way ticket to a life full of debt and misery.

And so, against all logic and reason, Akira threw his hoodie on and walked up to them.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” Akira hissed, grasping Niijima by the arm and dragging her in an alleyway before she could even react.

“Get off!” the blond boy snarled, aggressively removing Akira from Niijima’s arm when they were in the safety of Shibuya’s shadows.

Niijima, however, looked undeterred. “hah,” she smiled, the picture of satisfaction. “I knew it.”

“How did you know where I was?” This information was vital. If some snotty high schoolers could find him like he was a damn celebrity, his competitors could have him shot in a heartbeat.

“We have… connections,” the girl with blond pigtails chimed in, crossing her arms and glaring.

“What the fuck are you- oh.”

_Ohya_

“That bitch ratted me out!” he swore under his breath. They were going to have to have a talk later. Pinching the bridge of his nose in a failed attempt to chase his headache away, he regarded the group with mild annoyance.

“I told you to drop your little investigation. Do you have a death wish?”

“We have a goal we must complete,” Niijima replead, keeping her head high. “And you are the only way to get to it. Tell us where Kaneshiro is.”

_Fuck. They knew his name._

“You guys are out of your minds.” Shaking his head, Akira tried to think of what he could possibly do to convince them to back off without blood involved. “This isn’t gonna end well.”

Niijima opened her mouth to respond, but was quickly distracted by the figure joining them.

“Akira?” Mishima yelped, looking back and forth between his friend and the group of teenagers. “What’s going on here?”

Akira felt a sweat drop roll down his neck. “Nothing. I was just-”

“I heard you mention the boss…” Mishima’s face turned cold, distrust shining clear in his eyes. “Are you… selling us out?”

“It ain’t like that-”

“As you’ve heard just now,” Niijima cut him off, “we know all about Kaneshiro.”

Before Akira could react, Mishima pulled out his phone and sent a text that could only cause trouble.

“Mishima, come on man. Are you really gonna bring them to him? They’re no trouble.”

“Yeah, they aren’t,” Mishima sneered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But you are.”

“The fuck I am-”

“Get in the car,” Mishima ordered as a black car arrived not too far from them.

“The hell we’re just gonna get in!” the blond boy shouted, jumping four steps back when Mishima pulled a gun out in clear daylight and aimed it at his head. “Woah man! Take it easy!”

“Get in the damn car!”

None of them argued as they were each pushed in the large car. When they were all inside, Mishima pointed the gun right at Akira’s chest, motioning for him to get in too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this is so late. I'm having a massive writer's block right now, so any feedback would be greatly appericiated! :)


	6. Chapter 6

“We’re gonna die,” the blonde girl moaned, the hands covering her face not doing much to hide her growing alarm. “We’re so gonna die.”

The car ride felt like ages, especially considering they were all pressed together so tight Akira could practically _smell _their panic. He suspected that had something to do with Mishima’s gun laying heavy in his lap, eyes trained on Akira specifically with an unwavering intensity.

Cold sweat covered his back, forming a thin lair of his own anxiety. “Hey man,” Akira started, distracting the others from their fearful ramblings. “If you’d just let me explain…”

“Shut up,” Mishima bit back, his expression strangely hurt. “Save it for the boss.”

His weirdly defense answer only confirmed that something about this situation was very, very wrong. Sure, Akira had been called names numerous times, the insults reigning from vicious to just downright disturbing. But never had someone from his own fucking group pointed a gun at his temple and had the audacity to say _he _was the problem.

“This is all your fault man,” the blond guy next to him whispered harshly, leg shaking from nerves. “We didn’t know you had trouble with them.”

“I don’t have trouble with them,” Akira snapped, the situation slowly but surely getting on his last nerves. “I _am _them.”

The slender boy to the far right raised a dark eyebrow at his words, doubt painted clear across his feminine features. “Apparently not.”

His hands itched to punch someone, preferably Mishima. This entire situation was utterly ridiculous, he knew this, so why was he so worried? They would arrive at Kaneshiro’s, Akira would get a chance to explain, and he would be back home just in time for one of Kojiro’s renowned dinners.

But doubt thrummed lowly in the back of his mind, growing in screeching volume with every minute passing. What if that _wasn’t_ how it went? What if Kaneshiro actually believed Mishima?

He still couldn’t wrap his head on just how _perfectly_ this entire thing plaid out for the traitor. He was set up, that much was obvious. It was just a question of _who,_ and how he would deal with them later.

Niijima looked as in control as ever, even in this situation. In fact, she looked more determined than ever. It pissed him off, annoyance crawling under his skin and damning himself for his own apparent incompetence.

“We’re here,” the driver said, a newcomer Akira couldn’t recognize, which might have been for the best. He didn’t think he could handle another accusing look from a former friend.

The man stepped out and went to open the door for Akira, who leapt out the moment fresh air hit him. The familiar sight of Kaneshiro’s place loomed before him, looking more ominous and threatening than ever.

“Hey Akira, what’s going on?” the guy standing at the front door asked, eyes nervously switching between Akira and Mishima’s gun, trying to put two together.

“Don’t worry about it.” Cold seeped from Mishima’s barrel to his lower back, even through the fabric of his hoodie obscuring the iron. “I’ll tell you later,” Akira replied to the older man, forcing a slight tug from his lips upwards and ignoring Mishima’s indignant snort at his words.

Not without commotion, he and the group of teens were pushed up the stairs, through the heavy doors leading to Kaneshiro’s usual spot. A new set of gorgeous women filled the cushions of the expensive couch, all giggling at a joke they just missed.

Had it always been that hot in there, or was that just his brain catching up with how screwed up the situation was?

“The fuck is this?” Kaneshiro’s voice sounded almost bored as he watched the clamoring group of teens clumsily stumbling forward while being detained by men in cheap suits, his slanted eyes narrowing further upon seeing a familiar mop of black curls among them. Seeing Kaneshiro, no matter how intimidating, irrationally soothed his nerves a little.

Akira opened his mouth to speak, but was rudely interrupted by Mishima gripping his shoulder with strength he didn’t know the other had, and was unceremoniously pushed down on his knees in front of Kaneshiro’s shiny white shoes.

“Kaneshiro-san, I believe I caught the traitor,” Mishima said, his voice holding a boyish tremor upon facing the older man, still pushing Akira down on the filthy floor.

Kaneshiro’s eyes trailed downwards, coldly observing Mishima’s painful grip, then back upwards where the bluish haired boys eyes were practically pleading for a chance to speak.

“Go on then,” Kaneshiro simply said, in that impossibly smooth voice of his, betraying nothing but superficial disinterest. Every set of eyes in the room burned on the intruders, and Akira couldn’t help but feel a small sting of pity when he felt a tremble weakening Mishima’s hold.

“Three days ago, I received a note saying Akira was the mole,” Mishima hurried, his voice stained with nerves. “I didn’t wanna believe it, so I went to ask him about it today, and I heard him giving your name to them.” Mishima jabbed an accusing finger at the other teens, who couldn’t do anything but stare with their eyes blown and their mouth agape.

Kaneshiro raised a slim eyebrow. “And who’re they?”

“They’re the brats who’ve been sniffing around about you, boss,” a tall guy chimed in, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oooh, I remember now.” Akira watched as Kaneshiro reached his thick fingers into his suit pants and pulled out an expensive phone, and felt his stomach drop as the man snapped a picture of the innocent group of high schoolers. “The prosecutor’s sister, Niijima Makoto and her entourage.”

The girl in question stiffened upon the mention of her sister, her dark eyes storming with what could only be described as rebellious spirit. “You… know about me?”

“I know everything, sweetheart,” Kaneshiro said confidently, still looking at the picture he just snapped. “Now then, let’s get back to the matter at hand. What do you have to say for yourself, Akira?”

Feeling like Mishima had enough fun, Akira brushed the boy’s hand off his shoulder and got up. “It’s miscommunication. They were just asking me about you, is all.”

“And you didn’t think to take them to me? That’s odd,” Kaneshiro said, his aura practically exuding condescension. “Considering Sen told me you dealt with them.”

It wasn’t the first time Akira was scared of Kaneshiro. In fact, terror invaded most of his thoughts every time he spend his days with him. But this low, dreadful feeling of pure _abandonment_ was new to him. After searching for any kind of understanding in Kaneshiro’s dull eyes and finding none, it was slowly starting on Akira that maybe, just maybe, Kaneshiro wasn’t on Akira’s side this time.

Apparently, Akira’s lack of response only served to fuel Mishima’s newfound confidence, much to his dismay. “That’s right!” Mishima nodded, sweat dripping off his upper lip, and Akira’s former friend was nowhere to be found in his desperate eyes. “He’s the traitor!”

“Can someone shut this kid up,” Kaneshiro snapped, and it only took a wave of his hand for one of the trained men to shoot forward, his fist hitting Mishima square in the face with a sickening crunch. Judging by the horrified gasps behind him, the danger of the situation slowly dawned on the group of students as they watched Mishima slump back with blood running down his face, covering the floor in mere seconds.

“Holy shit!” the blond guy yelped, only to be thankfully silenced by his friends, who seemed to catch on a lot faster.

“You can’t really believe I’m the traitor,” Akira ignored the other, flinching back a little when Kaneshiro’s eyes flashed with warning. “I would never betray this group.”

“Oh, I know,” Kaneshiro said suddenly, much to everyone’s surprise.

“…what?”

“Did you all really think I’m stupid enough to believe such a baseless rumor? I’m the boss for a reason, you dipshits. You didn’t betray me.”

The flow of relief that overtook him was strong enough to make him weak at the knees. “Then-”

“But don’t you think you’ve been causing a lot of trouble for me, Akira?” Kaneshiro asked, resting his chubby cheek on his fist. “When we first met, we made a deal. That you would be useful to me.”

“I-”

“But lately, doesn’t it seem like you’re not really… pulling your own weight? In fact, I’d say it’s the opposite. Sen told me he had to come save you before, like a little bitch in distress.”

Akira’s eyes flew nervously across the room, over examining their audience’s reactions. Judging by their predatory smiles, he guessed it wasn’t good. These people were hyena’s smelling blood, and for the first time in years, Akira was the prey. And he didn’t like it one bit.

“Can’t we… talk privately about this?”

“Why would we?” Kaneshiro asked, and It seemed like he genuinely wondered what it mattered. “Don’t you want to prove to everyone you’re still useful?”

Burying his fist in his hoodie, Akira did his utmost best to ignore Mishima’s pained grunting as his mind raced in an attempt to keep up. “… What do you want me to do, then?”

“Ah,” Kaneshiro grinned, the same smile he shot him back when they first met, radiating cruel glee. “Glad you asked.”

Akira could only watch in growing dread as Kaneshiro leaned forward and grabbed his ever present case, knowing that if money was involved, all humanity was thrown out the window. He opened it up, revealing a staggering amount of dirty money most people could only dream of.

“How much did you say the new wares cost?” Kaneshiro asked to one of the guys near him.

“Around four million.”

“There you have it then.” Leaning forward, Kaneshiro carefully counted the stacked piles and handed over the exact amount. “Either I sell this kid,” Kaneshiro jabbed a blunt fingernail in Mishima’s direction, where he laid softly moaning on the ground. “Or you find a way to pay me back.”

Akira’s mind struggled to keep up, growing more hazy with realization every second. It was a ridiculously large sum for say, high schoolers, but for him it was easy money if he really pulled through with the business.

“… are you thinking you can use _my own _business to pay me back?” Kaneshiro scoffed, reading his pupil like a book, his expression more amused than offended. “Selfish fucking brat.” The man rose from his seat, inching forward with an intimidating presence despite his rather short stature. “No, for the first time in your short little life, you’re gonna get me my shit on your own.”

The room was eerily quiet despite the previous ear deafening chatter, everyone apparently on the edge of their seat for what Akira’s reaction could possibly be. Problem was, he was waiting too, but nothing came to mind. Instead, a familiar sense of emptiness numbed the obvious betrayal, leaving him more empty then anything.

_What the fuck is happening?_

“Well, don’t be so tense,” Kaneshiro laughed, prompting the other thugs to do the same. “It’s not _that _much. Why not ask your friend for help? What was her name again…?” Kaneshiro obviously pretended to think it over, knowing exactly who he meant. “Nami! I’m sure she has an easy way of making money, if you make use of your advantages. From what I’ve heard, a lot of guys around here would jump at a chance to get their hands on you.”

“Are you implying that I should sell my body?” Akira had to bite his lip to keep in a whirlwind of insults, Kaneshiro’s words had left a dirty taste in his mouth.

“I don’t care,” was the simple reply that came. “As long as I get my money. If it’s too tough of a task for you, I could always use Mishima here as a substitute. Organs have been taking a hit on the market lately.”

Unfortunately, they both knew Akira would never stoop that low. He couldn’t.

“You…” A harsh voice rang out, sending alarm bells blaring in his mind. “How could you?” Whipping his head around, Akira had momentarily forgotten all about the presence of the high schoolers, and knew they were screwed as he met Niijima’s killer glare. “You disgusting pig.”

“Oh?” Kaneshiro crossed his arms over his chest, looking thoroughly entertained. Frankly, it was starting to break Akira’s heart, even if he would never admit it. “Decided to join the conversation, have you?”

“I knew you were extorting minors, Kaneshiro,” she said his name like he was a bug scraped along the sole of her shoe, “But I didn’t know it was to this extent. You must be stopped.”

Judging from Kaneshiro’s mocking expression, he didn’t take a single word escaping her pink lips seriously at all. “Well then. Luckily for you, miss pretty student council president, I hadn’t forgotten about you either.”

Makoto Niijima just raised her dainty nose up in the air, and took a fearless stance against Shibuya’s boss. “Good.”

Akira wasn’t sure if the turmoil bubbling up low in his stomach was respect or frustration.

She looked like she had a _lot_ more to say, and Akira decided then and there that he was absolutely done. “Let’s just stop this,” he said loudly, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “I’ll get you the money, and I’ll take these idiots out of here.”

Knowing Kaneshiro, the topic was far from resting, but it seemed he decided to take a slither of mercy on him and keep at this, for now. “All right. You have four weeks.”

Nodding, Akira turned on his heels and went to get the hell out of there, shooting Niijima a warning look she thankfully seemed to agree with.

“Oh and Akira?” Kaneshiro’s voice sounded both as sweet as honey, and vicious like poison. “Take that trash with you,” he said, nudging Mishima’s barely conscious body with his shoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope i did a decent job carrying over AKira's emotions, haha. Sorry for any spelling and grammar mistakes, my English still isn't perfect


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is kind of late and all, but i tried haha. Thanks to anyone who's still reading

Once outside, the cold silence waiting for them threw Akira for a loop, still dazed and a little out of it.

“Hey…” the blond boy spoke up, his usually brash voice cautious for a change. “You, uh… you good, man?”

“I’m doing fucking incredible,” Akira grunted between his clenched teeth, hoisting Mishima’s groaning form higher on his already protesting shoulder.

“What are you gonna do now?” one of the girls asked, clenching her soft pigtail worriedly.

“I’m leaving,” Akira mumbled, pretending he didn’t care about the concerned looks thrown his way. “You guys should do the same, unless you actually have a thing for owning a life debt and shit.”

“Wait.” He was about to turn around and make his way back, when Niijima’s cold hand carefully touched his free shoulder. “There is an alternative. We can help you.”

“Help me?” Akira snorted indignantly, his bad mood souring even further. “I think you’ve helped enough, thanks.”

“I don’t understand why you let that vile man monopolize you,” the slender boy stated, scorn tainting his suave voice with fresh pain.

Akira frowned in his direction, expression pensive. Unsurprisingly, it seemed like these kids also had some things to work through. Thankfully though, it wasn’t his problem to care, and he had no intention of making it so.

“I have a feeling you fucking idiots don’t understand a lot, especially the situation you’re in.” He gripped Mishima’s arm painfully, making the smaller boy wince a bit. Serves him right. “Leave.”

“But how’re you gonna get home…” the foreign girl looked guilty, a feeling he himself was very familiar with. He hated it to bits.

“I said fucking leave!” He snapped, turning around decisively.

Mishima’s feet dragged across the filthy pavement as he picked up the pace and trudged forward, and Akira couldn’t care less when one of the boys shoes slipped off and strayed on the road.

He guessed he should be thankful to be returning home at all, considering what happens to most of Kaneshiro’s ‘customers’. 

When they finally got back, Akira was drenched in in sweat. Using the last bit of energy left, Akira’s muscles screamed for relief as he slowly dragged Mishima up the stairs.

Sighing a breath of relief when they reached the top, Akira promptly dropped Mishima on the floor, alarming the other inhabitants of their arrival.

“You’re home- oh…” Daiya emerged from his room, hair tussled and clothes in disarray. He stared blankly at Mishima’s still form on their floor, then gazed back up to Akira, seemingly unimpressed. “Is he alive?”

“Of course he’s alive.” Stretching his shoulder blades, Akira realized they were missing someone. “Where’s Kojiro?”

“I’m here,” Kojiro’s deep voice rumbled, his broad form appearing right behind Daiya’s. Considering the fact he was shirtless and very, very sweaty, Akira didn’t have to think too deep to what they were doing before he so unceremoniously interrupted them.

“Looks like I chose the wrong time to return, huh,” Akira laughed, Daiya’s embarrassed stuttering only adding to the amusement he drew from the situation.

“We- we weren’t…”

“Exactly,” Kojiro nodded stoically, interrupting Daiya’s growing train wreck. “Send a text or something next time.”

“Sure. Daiya, could you take a look at Mishima?”

Akira looked at his two friends, and felt a sudden rush of shame. How was he going to tell them he fucked up? They counted on him, and he screwed it. He didn’t want their view of him to change because of some small misunderstanding, but he was pretty sure this wasn’t something he could keep secret.

“Well,” Daiya sighed, giving Mishima’s bloody face a thorough inspection. “His nose is definitely broken, and he might have a concussion or something. I think he needs a hospital.”

Akira felt inclined to agree. Mishima’s usually pale skin now sported a growing purple swelling, and he was pretty sure his nose wasn’t naturally angled in that direction before.

“What a pain in the ass… Can’t we, like, just do it ourselves or something? I’m not paying for his treatment.”

“I can try setting it straight,” Kojiro proposed enthusiastically, only to be shot down immediately.

“Hell no,” Daiya scolded disapprovingly, “I think he likes being able to breath through his nose, don’t you?”

“Fine,” Akira rolled his eyes. “Just get him some ice, we’ll take him to the hospital when he wakes up. I’m not dragging his ass an inch further.”

“You gonna tell us what happened?” Kojiro asked after he and Daiya laid Mishima down on a spare mattress, patting the spot next to him on the couch for him to sit down.

“I…” Akira bit his lip, contemplating how he was gonna word this. How was he gonna make this sound _not _disastrous and panic inducing? “Have a problem.”

Their eyes stayed intensely focused on him, patiently waiting for an explanation. He sighed, knowing it was better to just relent, and told them the entire story, except for a few hurtful things Kaneshiro had said.

When he was done, he nervously sat in silence, waiting for any kind of response from their unreadable expressions.

“…This sounds like a Mishima problem,” Kojiro eventually said, looking like he regretted helping the boy at all.

“Nah. Didn’t you hear, man? This was gonna happen eventually. Mishima was just the middle man for Akira to be pushed over the edge. Kaneshiro-san was probably looking for a chance like this for a while,” Daiya interjected, shaking his head decisively.

“Yeah.” Akira nodded, frowning. “Plus, Mishima doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“We don’t either.” Exactly like he feared, Kojiro’s face looked thunderous. “I don’t give a shit what kinda trouble Kaneshiro’s got with you, that runt is gonna take responsibility for this mess.”

Akira opened his mouth, not sure if he should agree or argue, but was interrupted by a small sniff from the corner.

“… You’re awake.”

Mishima laid on the mattress, the previously caked blood on his face now runny and mingled with fresh tears. He was clutching the ice pack to his nose with trembling hands, his crying increasing in volume when they noticed him.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed quietly, refusing to meet Akira’s eyes. “I’m-i… I’m so sorry.”

Looking at Mishima’s pathetic form trembling on his floor, Akira felt a rush of fury, but it was quickly replaced with pity despite him knowing he had every right to be angry.

“You’re sorry?” Apparently, Kojiro wasn’t so quick to forgive. “That’s cute. If you’re so sorry, how about you cough up four million right now, huh?”

Mishima stubbornly focused his sad eyes on their floor. “I don’t have-“

“Doesn’t matter. There are plenty of ways to get it,” Kojiro spat, and Akira felt a surge of concern with how his friend was acting. It was like he was mirroring Kaneshiro, the thought alone disturbing enough to make Akira sick to the stomach.

“Jiro,” Daiya’s soft voice called out, carefully placing his hand on Kojiro’s forearm. “Calm down, you know you’re being illogical.”

For a second, Kojiro’s eyes lit up with frustration and his fist clenched so hard Akira was afraid he was going to break his own fingers, but then they unclenched and he returned back to the softy they knew. “… Yeah. I’m just pissed.”

“No need to get so protective,” Daiya remined him, “Akira can take care of himself.”

Akira was starting to doubt that himself.

“Mishima,” Akira sighed, gaining everyone’s attention back. “Why did you do that, man. Friends don’t fucking tell on each other.”

“I…” Mishima’s voice sounded fragile and young, like he could snap in two any moment now. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Explain.”

“I got a note a few days ago, saying you’re the traitor. I was gonna talk to you about it, I really was, but then I saw you talking to them…”

“And you thought I was telling them all about the business I fucking help run? That’s ridiculous.”

“I just… wanted to be the hero, you know?” Mishima stuttered out, and at least had the decency to look thoroughly ashamed. “I should have never doubted you, Akira-san. I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you should be,” Akira bit out, but regretted it when Mishima shrunk back, the regret practically rolling off of him. “… it’s fine. We’ll figure something out.”

He understood, kind of. He used to be like that too, ready to do literally anything and fuck anyone over if it meant Kaneshiro looked his way even for a second.

“How’re you gonna do that?” Daiya asked, doubt etched into his expression. “Things aren’t looking great for us.”

“I’ve got, you know, connections and shit,” Akira mumbled, knowing damn well it wasn’t that easy.

“No you don’t,” Kojiro frowned, looking unimpressed. “The only people who would do anything for you just wanna get in your pants.”

“True,” Daiya agreed before Akira could even defend his pathetic argument. “And you’re cute and all, but not four million yen cute.”

“Wow thanks,” Akira grumbled, his mood souring when he heard their smothered snickering.

“I think you’re worth four million, Akira-san!” Mishima defended him, making Akira groan in embarrassment when the other two burst out in laughter.

“Let’s just… think about it, yeah? I’ve got four weeks.”

“_We’ve_ got four weeks, you mean,” Daiya smiled, Kojiro nodding behind him. “We’re in this together, you know.”

Mishima sat up a little, looking up at him while still holding the ice to his swollen nose. “Akira-san, I understand if you don’t want me anymore, but I want to support you too.”

A warm feeling spread through his chest, and Akira wondered how long it had been since he appreciated little moments like this, instead of chasing after Kaneshiro’s approval. Maybe this wouldn’t end in tragedy after all.

“… yeah. Thanks, guys.” He let a rare smile slip over his face, the feeling almost foreign to him. “Now let’s get you to the hospital, you look like a purple grape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm desperate for comments


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexual harassment

The streets of Shibuya were uncharacteristically quiet.

‘_Maybe’_, Akira pondered,_ ‘it’s a sign’_.

A sign he really, really shouldn’t be doing this.

But yet again, he came to the same conclusion that pushed him to make all of his bad decisions; He had no choice.

The familiar brothel stood tall and menacing, known for bringing both pleasure or despair depending on who entered it. Usually, to Akira, it brought neither. He was an stubborn observer to a world that robbed innocence from kids and credibility from adults. But this time was different.

He lost the game, and so, he practically forfeited his right to stand on the sidelines. Which meant that today, he wasn’t an observer, investor, or even a patron. Today Akira was playing a different role.

“You’re not gonna go in?” A teasing voice cut through his self-induced tension, bringing him back to reality, a place Akira truly dreaded at the moment.

Grinding his teeth in annoyance, Akira turned to Sen and glared. “What’re you doing here?”

“What?” the taller man taunted, wrapping his arms around his slim figure, feigning innocence. “Can’t a man enjoy a little pleasure these days?”

“No.” Raising a hand to shield his dark eyes from the wind, Akira narrowed them in contempt. “Are you following me?”

“I’ve heard what happened,” Sen said, ignoring his question with the expertise of a born liar. “Seems like your big bro got tired of you.”

“Why are you here, Sen?”

“I’m bored. Why else would I be here?”

“Alcohol can fix that. I’ve got some business to take care of, so why don’t you just fuck off and go on your way so you can keep your nose in your own shit for once.”

“Ouch.” A sly smile spread over Sen’s face, meaning that whatever was brewing in that brain of his, was bad news. “What if I told you I have a proposition for you?”

Akira raised an eyebrow, shifting his weight to his left leg. “I’d say I don’t wanna hear it.”

Deciding the conversation was over, Akira stuffed his fingers in his hoodie and stepped towards the entry, keeping his eyes focused on the ground.

“Wait!” Sen called after him, his long legs needing only a few lazy strikes to catch up. “Hear me out. Otherwise, you’ll regret it.”

“Sen, can’t you just let me ruin my own fucking life in peace?”

“I’d love to, honey, but not today,” Sen said, standing in front of him. “Let’s go to my place, yeah? I wouldn’t want someone to overhear.” A smile spread over the man’s handsome face, his teeth sharper than Akira remembered. He searched for malicious intent in those narrowed eyes, but much to his growing irritation, he only found an unhealthy dose of sick amusement.

“…All right,” Akira shrugged, pushing all the scenario’s that could go bad far back. After all, what could hold more risk than the alternative? “You’ve got two hours.”

“That’s all I need. Let’s go, my car’s parked in the back.”

* * *

“Sen… this isn’t the place we were at last time?” Akira frowned, observing the squeaky clean villa with pursed lips. Admittedly, he didn’t visit Sen’s home often, and never for anything other than business. But he sure wasn’t expecting a place seemingly more expensive than even Kaneshiro’s penthouse. “How the fuck did you pay for this this?”

“Unimportant.”

“It’s not,” Akira said, awkwardly looking around through glass walls into the lush garden as he walked up to the second floor. “Kaneshiro would be furious if he knew about this. How the hell did you afford this?”

“Can’t we all have our secrets, Akira?” The way his name rolled off of Sen’s tongue made him shiver. “I remember you lecturing me about keeping my nose in my own business just twenty minutes ago.”

Passing an enormous, lavishly decorated hall, Sen led him through a double door and into an impressive living room. Paintings littered the wall’s cream colored surface, each depicting a gruesome, tragic tale of some sort. It reminded Akira of the interior of a church, the sight bringing about both a feeling of raw weariness and melancholy.

Slowly gazing over each vibrant detail, Akira stopped at a the largest painting; a beautiful woman with a forlorn gaze, so well-crafted it was like she could come alive any second.

“Is that the Sayuri?” Akira asked, his breathless voice laced with judgement. “Did you steal it?”

“Eh, it’s a fake. I was gonna sell it, but that old fart spilled the beans and fucked it up, so I decided I’d just keep it. For the memories, you know.” Sen motioned for him to take a seat on a long, fancy couch. “You want something to drink?”

“No, I’m good.” Akira sank down on the plush seating, a chesterfield. The open space of the living room felt oddly… unused. The coffee table, the flatscreen, the shining chandelier. All of it made a pretty, but cold picture. Not unlike a painting in itself, rich of colors and impressions, but ultimately a lie.

“Whiskey then,” Sen decided, winking as he left for the kitchen, leaving Akira alone in utter silence. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“I won’t,” Akira muttered under his breath, taking his buzzing phone out of his pocket. Twelve missed calls from Daiya, two from Kojiro and six from Mishima, paired with dozens of texts.

They knew the deadline was coming up. Days on end, they tried to come up with numerous plans, each more prone to failing then the other. Stealing, borrowing, begging, part-time jobs, name it and they considered it. But alas, they came up empty handed, and morale was growing low.

“Yeah?” Akira sighed into the phone, wincing at Daiya’s shrill voice cutting through static.

“Akira! Where the fuck are you man? We were supposed to go to Kaneshiro’s today. Don’t tell me you forgot?”

“Of course I didn’t forget,” Akira snapped, balling his graceful fingers into a fist. “I’ve thought about it Daiya… Just let me fix it, yeah? On my own.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there man, we had a plan,” Daiya said, worry drowning the frustration out. “We were gonna go to Kaneshiro’s, tell him to let those stupid high schoolers to take care of it, and ask for forgiveness. And now, you’re where exactly? Since when do we just screw over our plans, huh? This is complicated enough as it is.”

“Yeah, I know the plan, I’m not stupid. But I decided fuck the plan. I’m a big boy, asshole, and I can take care of my own mess. So just… rent a movie or something, go on a picnic, and let me deal with it.”

“Okay, just- Where are you right now? Please, don’t tell me you went to that brothel?”

“…I did, but-” He could hear Daiya swear, and Mishima yell something in the background. “Not anymore, okay? Something else came up.”

“Thank god… Tell me the address, Kojiro’s gonna pick you up.”

“It’s fine,” Akira said, “You don’t have to, I’m just at Sen’s place. He said he had a proposit-”

“You’re where?!” Daiya’s voice came out in a small, sudden breath of absolute terror. “Akira, oh my god.”

“Huh?” Akira frowned, sweat rolling down his back. It had been a while since he’d heard his friend so unnerved. The streets kind of take that away from you. “You okay? Breathe, man.”

“Akira!” Kojiro’s voice interrupted, taking a hold of the phone. “Stay right where you are, I’m coming. Be careful of-”

“Who’re you talking to?” Sen suddenly stood right behind him, snatching Akira’s phone out of his hand and looking over the lit screen. “Daiya? Boring.”

“Do you mind?” Akira shifted in his seat, expectantly holding his hand out to receive the smartphone back, but Sen just stuffed in his back pocket.

“Let’s talk first. You know me, I like to have a little insurance,” Sen said, placing down a glass of whiskey in front of him before taking a seat with his own.

Akira thought back to how distressed his friends sounded, and hesitated for a moment. But surely… it was nothing. Sen just wants to talk, and they didn’t know the address to this place anyway. But part of him still regretted coming to the fancy, overly expensive house in the first place.

“All right. What did you want to talk about, then? Time’s running out.”

“You always were so impatient,” Sen sighed, voice edging on mocking. “Not unlike your mother.”

“… The fuck?”

“You look like her too.” The older man swung one long leg over the other, contempt radiating off of his smug face. “Pale, messy and a real sight for sore eyes.”

“That’s…”

Akira didn’t understand. For fucks sake, he barely remembered his mother’s face, so why did Sen do? What gave _him_ the right?

He was about to lose it, the questions on his tongue ready to roll off and burst into an incoherent mess of meaningless accusations barely forming a sentence, but bit his lip in the very last second.

He shouldn’t, no, wouldn’t care. Sen was just egging him on.

“Fuck it, keep the phone,” Akira said, standing up and ready to hurry the hell out of there, until;

“You were the reason she died, you know.”

And with those simple, empty words, time stood still. Blood rushed to his face, and suddenly the room went woozy. Did he just hear that right? Was he hallucinating? Because if he wasn’t, then _what the fuck_?

“Hah, I knew that’d get a reaction out of you!” Sen smiled, enjoying the conversation a lot more than Akira was. “Now sit down, I’ve got a story to tell you.”

It took Akira about ten seconds to pick his jaw off the floor, and another ten to try and comprehend what Sen was saying, and more importantly, how he should respond.

“I-,” Akira mumbled, emotions he thought he’d long abandoned flushing back up and grabbing ahold of his neck in a grip tight enough to choke out any shock left. “T-to hell with that, you asshole! I’m fucking leaving,” he snapped, finally able to speak, and almost actually did leave before Sen pulled a gun out of his pocket so fast Akira would have been impressed if he wasn’t absolutely flabbergasted.

Sen shouted, “Sit the FUCK down!”

Swallowing loudly, Akira did.

Sen looked like a madman, hair in disarray, spit running down his chin. It took several seconds for the man to calm down while breathing heavily, and then he let out a broken chuckle.

“…hah.” He raised his free right hand, and brushed the hair that had fallen before his eyes back in his usual slicked style. “Good, good. A little more willing to talk now, I take it?”

Akira blinked. “You… can say that.”

“Let’s talk then. I’ll start. Do you know why I called you here?”

“I- no?”

_What the fuck?_

“All right! question two, do you remember me?”

Akira blinked, once, then twice. “You’re Hasekura Sen.”

“Well yeah, but not really. Do you remember who I _used _to be?” Sen asked, desperation making his voice sway on the edge of sanity, his eyes darker then Akira remembered them.

“I don’t,” Akira said, eyes glued on the gun Sen was casually swaying around. “Listen man, did you forget to take your meds or something? Cause this is fucking _weird_.”

“Unimportant,” Sen decided, which made Akira even_ more_ worried. “You see, you may not remember me, but I remember the old you clear as day.”

“What the hell are you talking about? We met only after I joined.”

“True,” Sen said, looking more aggravated with each word Akira said. “Sen Hasekura met Akira, the inexperienced little duckling, when he was thirteen. But Makioka Takeru and Akira Kurusu have been acquainted for a long time.”

“Makioka… Takeru?” Akira recognized that name for sure.

Akira remembered his mother, Fuyuko, like the sun. Bright, warm and illuminating. She lit up everyone around her, and made them _better_, _kinder._ One of the people’s life she shined on was Makioka Takeru, a young orphan in his early twenties who lived on the streets. Fuyuko helped him pick up his pieces and glued them back together, and Takeru _adored _her for it.

But… Takeru was a scrawny, gentle soul. Sen on the other hand was the opposite, tall and menacing. The young man Akira remembered would shrink away in the face of violence.

“Oh, did you remember? I look different, don’t I. Having the one person you love die does that to you,” Sen said, and seeing him from a new angle, Akira could see it.

When imagining his slanted eyes vacant of hatred, his face without the scar and with his hair loose, Sen’s image slowly morphed into one of Akira’s forgotten memories.

“…Okay,” Akira said.

Sen looked slightly taken aback. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. So, you’re Takeru? Are you gonna… what, tell me what happened to you? Is this your evil monologue? Because fuck you. I moved on with my life, how about you do the same?” Akira spat.

“Move on?” Sen stood, and Akira immediately regretted speaking when Sen pushed the cold barrel right between his eyebrows, resting his finger casually on the trigger. “That’s right, you moved on. And I fucking hate you for it, you spineless coward. Did you even bother to look into her death? Were you not at all suspicious when your dad dropped cold, or were you just that glad to get rid of him?”

“I don’t-”

“Right. You were too busy leaving your past behind to remember her. Because if you weren’t such a selfish piece of shit, you’d know she died because of _you_. She had to pay _your_ hospital bills, she did everything to support _you_, and in the end it was _you_ who pushed her too far. It’s your fucking fault, and I knew I had to make you pay for it!”

The foundation of Akira’s fragile sanity crumbled to pieces.

Akira licked his dry lips, shrinking back when the gun pressed painfully upward, dragging along his scalp. “Takeru…”

_“_Don’t fucking call me that!” Sen screamed, raw and feral. “I did everything right, and you still took me from her! So I was determined to ruin your life. I paid some old friends to get rid of your father.”

_What?_

“I told Kaneshiro to take you in, and fuck you up. I paid Nami to spread vulgar, ugly rumors about you. I got your two little friends to spy in you, and tell me everything about how you desperately try to give your empty life meaning!”

_What? What? What? _

“Everything you have done up until now, Akira, I made you do. I’m the one you should be groveling for to -”

“Stop!” Akira practically _begged_, every one of his nerves stabbed, burned, and absolutely decimated. “Just stop…”

Akira raised his head, eyes painfully focusing on Sen’s through the budding tears.

“I’m done,” he softly spoke, then added, “Just fucking shoot me, it’s done. I can’t anymore.”

And for a second, Akira knew Sen considered it. His eyes wavered, and his finger pressed down, but then he let out a sound similar to a mortally wounded animal.

Sen dragged his gun down Akira’s pale face, all the way into the collar of his shirt.

“I would love to,” Sen whispered, a tremor in his voice Akira would have never recognized If he didn’t know the truth. “But I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you look so much _like her_. Your big eyes, the way walk, fuck, you eat a sandwich just like she did. In every action you take, she’s there, and then I can see her again.”

“But I’m not my mom,” Akira whispered, desperate to keep himself grounded. Because who in the world was he really?

“You think I don’t know that?!” Sen yelled, and before Akira could even blink he bowed down and grabbed Akira’s right wrist, pinning it to the couch. “And yet, you torment me so.”

The older man pressed his sharp nose into Akira’s collarbone, and inhaled. “I can’t believe this, you even smell like her, fuck.”

And while everything crumbled around him, all Akira could do was watch. He watched as Sen pressed a leg between his thighs, and lowered his gun to slip an arm around the small of his back. He watched as Sen swallowed tears, and broke Akira’s smooth skin with his sharp teeth. Akira just _watched_, like the coward he is. Just like back then, all he could was observe and obey.

And while he was looking at the ceiling, distantly noting his shirt was slowly but surely being removed, an epiphany came to him.

Why the fuck should he just watch?

What gave Sen the right to just fuck up his life like this? Why should he stand for letting the people he trusted most betray him like this? Why should he be blamed for his mother’s actions, and his father’s decay?

He sure as hell wasn’t innocent, but for the first time in his life, Akira realized he didn’t deserve _this._

It was time for him to face his demons, and put an end to this madness.

He let Sen capture his lips into a filthy kiss, and registered the man moaning above him when he raised his arms and roamed around the surface of his slim back. Akira deepened the kiss, pressing his body against Sen’s to slip his hand into his, and discreetly grasping hold the gun.

“Takeru,” Akira mumbled, and listened intently to the choked back cry that followed. “Get off of me.”

“…What?” Sen mused into his ears, and gasped for breath when Akira raised his knee and slammed it into his crotch.

“I said get off of me!” Pushing Sen off, Akira scrambled off of the couch and hastily raised his gun. The look of betrayal present in Sen’s eyes physically hurt. “You… you ruined my life.”

“Yeah,” Sen chuckled under his breath, the laugh more sad than amused. “So what? Should I just have left you with your drunk father? Or your piece of shit uncle? If you’re anything like your mother Akira, and I know you are, you would have just messed it up yourself.

“Maybe,” Akira lamented, and his head spun so much he was starting to wonder which way was up. “But what the_ fuck _gives you the right? It was my life to ruin, you sick pervert!”

He raised the gun and removed the safety pin, and when Akira saw a glimmer of fear into Sen’s eyes, the small gesture of vulnerability was as satisfying as it was heart wrenching.

“Akira, don’t do anything you’d regret-”

“Shut up!” Akira screamed, his throat turning raw. “I am not my mother, and you don’t know me!”

Looking back, Akira still wonders whether if he had had the chance that day, would he really have shot Sen? Did the world truly turn his parents little boy really _that_ cruel, or would he have been to much of a coward after all?

In the end, he would never find out.

It all happened in a flash, too fast to even register.

The large, oak doors burst open, revealing Daiya, Kojiro, and Mishima slightly later.

Daiya let out a startled gasp, and Kojiro looked at the gun he was holding, then right into his eyes, face stained with regret.

He heard a mangled, ear piercing “No!” coming from Sen, a blast, and then numbness. All of a sudden, the ceiling overtook his vision, and it took him another ten seconds to realize he’d been shot. He couldn’t hear the commotion around him, only dull buzzing overtaking his senses, and a growing heat bubbling up In his stomach.

It didn’t hurt. In fact, except for the heat, it didn’t feel like much at all.

For the first time, as Akira laid there while his vision slowly darkened, he wondered if there really was a heaven or hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this is so late, i tried


End file.
